


giving you my all

by highwayfawn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Codependency, Dark, Drabble, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, POV Second Person, Unhealthy Relationships, did i actually write this tho yikes, hooo boy, siken inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-25
Packaged: 2017-12-03 15:07:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/highwayfawn/pseuds/highwayfawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your brother’s hands are fire. They’re touching your skin, and he’s saying, “Please.” Saying, “Please, I want this. Please, let me have this.”</p><p>mid-season 4</p>
            </blockquote>





	giving you my all

Your brother’s hands are fire. They’re touching your skin, and he’s saying, “Please.” Saying: “Please, I want this. Please, let me have this.”

Saying, “It doesn’t matter.” He’s saying, “It doesn’t matter,” and he’s touching your skin everywhere, fingers like fire, burning you, burning and soothing and burning. You’re trying your best to keep it together and it’s not working, nothing’s working. Because his hands are all over you, everywhere, setting your skin on fire, leaving smoke in their wake. Isn’t that funny? A theme that seems to follow you around like a rain cloud, like a curse, like an omen. Fire and smoke: on your fourth birthday cake, in your brother’s nursery, leaping from a hole in the ground as you watch your first salted corpse burn and burn and burn. Fire and smoke: at the glowing tip of your first cigarette at fourteen and the smell of burning skin when your father catches you and puts it out on your arm. 

Fire and smoke, lighting up the night as you drag your brother out of the second burning building, as he shouts and fights and kicks like an animal, like he’s suicidal, like he’s a martyr, like he’s learned something from you.

Fire and smoke, in the hundreds of bodies you’ve torched, in the smell of a dead Wendigo, in the sight your father’s body burning. In the deepest pits of hell. In a pair of wings charred into the ground. In a burning building with two of your last friends inside. And now, in your brother’s hands, his fingertips, his mouth. It’s burning you, and you don’t think you’re gonna make it. You’re going to die on this bed with your brother’s name in your mouth because it’s too much, too much, and you can’t do this, can’t ruin him, can’t admit that maybe this was bound to happen since the day you pulled him from the fire. _Which time?_ Either. You remember being sixteen and him curling into your side and whispering your name. You remember being twenty and his mouth and his softness and his eyes that were hidden behind his hair, and his mouth, and pushing that thought away because you weren’t _sick,_ you weren’t, you swear.

And now, here: your brother’s hands are burning you and he’s saying, “It’s okay. It’s okay, I promise, I promise.” He’s saying your name like a prayer, a litany of: “Dean, Dean, Dean; please. Please. _Please_.” And maybe, you think, you should just give in.

You should just say, “Okay, Sammy. Okay. Anything you want.” Because you've always been his, because everything’s always been his. Everything you’ve ever owned was always his. You'd give him anything if he just asked, and now he’s asking, and you’re going to give.

After all, you’ve never been able to deny him anything.

**Author's Note:**

> yikes this is old and weird af


End file.
